


Learning to Love Life at the Bottom:  To Be Filled

by Sulla



Series: Learning to Love Life at the Bottom [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Comeplay, Fluff, M/M, Object Insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Learning to Love Life at the Bottom.  You can probably understand this one without reading the other though, but it would be meaningful if the first was read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Love Life at the Bottom:  To Be Filled

John was listening to the lungs of his third flu case of the day when his mobile chimed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, let me turn that off," he said, stepping away, he picked up the phone and chanced to see the message before he turned it to vibrate mode.

 **I need you  
SH**

He sighed expansively. He had a feeling it was going to be another one of those afternoons. John never knew what to think when he received texts like that from Sherlock - was he in real danger, or was it something inane, like needing his phone taken out of his pocket? Was he on the case of some new villain, or was he making a glorified 'booty call'? The latter had become just as likely as anything else, these days, ever since the two of them had commenced sexual relations some months before. And it was only last night that Sherlock had let John top for the first time, so John halfway expected the man to be a little...worked up.

The mobile vibrated in his hand again before he could slip it into his pocket. He hazarded another look, ignoring for the moment the disapproving glare of his elderly patient.

 **The cucumbers in the fridge. Do you plan to use them?  
SH**

What? John didn't have time for this. Sherlock was between cases; the level of boredom which he reached at these times was legendary, and John was of course was the one who had to deal with the majority of the fallout. He pocketed the mobile and went back to assessing his patient, figuring that if it was something truly important, Sherlock would call the surgery line directly, as he had a few times in the past when John had ignored his texts and the subject was important.

Over the next 45 minutes, he felt his trousers vibrate _twenty-three_ times.

Luckily, it was near the end of the day, and his patients were on the whole too sick to notice the way John's teeth were grinding in annoyance. After he wrapped up the final two patients, he finally sat at his desk and took the mobile out and peered at it.

 **How about the carrots?  
SH**

 **Found Mycroft's camera, the one in the bedroom. He should now be watching the London sewer system in close and revealing detail.  
SH**

 **Have you seen my riding crop?  
SH**

 **Never mind.  
SH**

 **You would never guess what you can carve out of a large potato.  
SH**

 **Out of lube, pls pick up more on way home.  
SH**

 **I dropped the torch. Pls pick up new one.  
SH**

 **John?  
SH**

 **JOHN JOHN JOHN  
SH**

 **...  
SH**

 **I want to be filled, John. Come home.  
SH**

 **I need you inside me.  
SH**

 **JOHN JOHN COME FUCK ME JOHN  
SH**

 **Your patients don't need you. I need you. In my arse, RIGHT NOW.  
SH**

 **Please?  
SH**

 **I just discovered something else that a large potato can be carved into  
SH**

 **John, would you please tell Sherlock to stop sending the Yard detectives photos of penis-shaped potatoes? There are only so many times you can be scarred for life before you lose your mind permanently.  
GL**

 **Alfalfa sprouts make good pubic hair in a pinch  
SH**

 **I'M THINKING OF YOU JOHN. YOU, IN ME.  
SH**

 **Are you ever coming home?  
SH**

 **Don't forget the lube.  
SH**

 **There's altogether too many eyes in this flat.  
SH**

 **Bring home some gaffer tape, too.  
SH**

 **Never mind the tape, I found some.  
SH**

John stared at the texts as he scrolled by them all. Two times. Three. Just now, as he was holding the mobile, a 24th text came in.

 **Don't forget the lube.  
SH**

A second later:

 **And potatoes. We need more potatoes.  
SH**

*****

John trudged slowly up the stairs to the flat. He'd managed to pick up everything Sherlock had asked for, along with something else that had occurred to him at the last minute when buying the lube. With Sherlock's repetition of his desire to be 'filled', one of the things that he'd said during sex the previous night returned to him. He laughed quietly to himself when he thought of how Sherlock would react when he pulled the new toy out.

As pretty and detailed as his thoughts were, the images left John's mind immediately upon opening the door to 221B and peering into the sitting room. The sight that greeted him was pretty (and strange) enough in and of itself.

Sherlock was on the sofa, head facing the doorway, and when John walked in laden with bags as he was, the detective stopped what he was doing. Which was unfortunate, as he looked very good doing it. He was naked, as far as John could see, and he was on elbows and knees with his arse in the air. His left arm was crooked around behind him, and John caught it in mid-motion as it worked something in and out of the man's entrance. On the side table was an array of instruments - three large carrots, one mid-sized cucumber, a pile of potato cuttings, three various-sized potatoes carved to resemble dildos, one potato carved to resemble what appeared to be an injured giraffe, a jar of petroleum jelly and, finally, a cracked and splintered torch, which, like the vegetables, was covered liberally with said jelly.

John spared a glance around the room, rather gobsmacked by the entire scene. There were squares of gaffer's tape here and there - on the DVD player, on the telly itself, even covering the eyes of the man in the unframed painting by the window. Sherlock's laptop, open to John's blog, sat open on the table by the window. The skull, in its' usual place on the mantel, was turned demurely away. Following the theme, John looked up above him at the print on the wall over the sofa, only to find that a large rectangle of tape had been stretched over the empty eyes of the print's skull.

"Sherlock?"

"John."

Sherlock somehow had the temerity to look at him as if _John_ were the one splayed on the sofa with an object inserted up his arse.

"What the HELL. Are you DOING."

"I should think that's obvious," sniffed Sherlock, red-faced. And John was not fooled - no, the flush of the detective's face was not due to any shame he might have felt. No, not shame. It was simply that his his head was lower than most of his body, and the blood was rushing to his head.

John dropped the bags on the floor, only to curse when a loud cracking sound heralded the breakage of the second torch in their flat that day. "Bugger!"

At this, Sherlock sat up slowly on his knees, simultaneously extricating the object that had been in his arse. A large squash.

"Good god, Sherlock, where did you get _that_?"

John was actually slightly shocked that this was the very first thing out of his mouth, but all he can think of is the fact that he certainly hadn't bought squash recently, and he couldn't block out the image of Sherlock at Tesco's looking for a perfectly penis-shaped item of the squash variety. For this was certainly a very, very penis-shaped squash. And it was shiny with jelly.

Sherlock dropped said item on top of the pile of potato cuttings, and looked at John unhappily for a long moment. He had an erection which was maintaining its' solidity even in the face of John's intrusion.

"You didn't come home," groused Sherlock.

"Yes, well, I was working."

"I needed you."

"... you needed me."

"Yes."

John spluttered for a moment. "You needed me to put veg up your bum?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Sherlock derisively. John stared at him in silence for several long moments before he continued. "I needed you to _fill_ me. I needed you inside me, John, and you weren't here!"

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We need to work on your impulse control, Sherlock. Just because you want to have sex, is not a valid reason for me to put my patients aside and come home."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond. "No, wait," interjected John, "hear me out. It's not a valid reason for me to have to come home early, and it's not a valid reason to start using the small amount of actual food we have in the flat as sex toys!"

Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like "bored".

"I don't care if you were bored; at the very least you could have gone to the sex shop in Soho we passed last week when we were looking after the Henner case, and bought yourself a dildo or something! What on earth possessed you to focus yourself on organic matter?"

More mumbling, something along the line of "torch" and "fell out".

John sighed again. "The torch fell out. Fell out of what, your arse?"

Sherlock just glared at him.

"Okay, okay, we'll leave it."

"Thank you."

John picked up the bags and took them into the kitchen. He put the new potatoes under the sink, and binned the remains of the new torch. He held up an industrial-sized tube of lubricant, brandishing it at the naked detective still kneeling on the sofa.

"Is that enough?"

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. "That will do."

"Okay...did you want dinner?"

Sherlock lowered the one eyebrow and then slowly raised the other. John felt very, very stupid, on par with one of the many times Sherlock asked him to list everything he observed, only to tell him he'd missed everything of any importance at all. "I guess not, then. Well, uh, is there anything on telly?" he asked lamely.

"Come here, John," Sherlock murmured.

John obeyed, eyeing the detective's hard-on, which had diminished only slightly during their exchange. When he reached Sherlock, he threaded his fingers through the other man's curls, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment.

"You," said John, smiling slightly, just with the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, me," Sherlock purred in return.

"...you looked amazing," John swallowed convulsively. "You looked really, really amazing."

"You look very attractive as well," replied Sherlock, "in spite of your pitiful lack of fashion sense," he continued. "Let me get rid of this."

Sherlock peeled John's favorite beige wooly jumper up and over his head. He then continued by unbuttoning John's shirt and pulling the sides apart, baring the doctor's chest. John had finally stopped being insecure about the scaring on his shoulder within just days of the beginning of their dalliances, after Sherlock had held him down and licked, kissed and nuzzled every inch of the ragged-looking tissue. It didn't bother him in the slightest by now.

John leaned down to kiss Sherlock, slightly embarrassed at himself for enjoying the novelty of the other man being momentarily shorter. Dropping the final bag that he was still holding down on the floor next to the sofa, John maintained the kiss for a few long moments before sliding his hand down Sherlock's naked back towards his incredibly shapely buttocks.

Sherlock began to rumble down in his chest as John's fingers approached his arse. The sound resembled a purr even more when John's fingers, reaching the cleft, dipped down to rub against man's relaxed, lube-slick entrance. John just traced his finger along its' edges for some time, listening to Sherlock's vocalizations as they took on a slightly more desperate tone.

"Don't tease me, John," Sherlock breathed against the doctor's lips, "I've been waiting for you all day. It had been dull beyond bearing."

John had pity on the man and plunged his middle finger deeply into Sherlock's hole. He smiled around the detective's kisses when the purr broke into little grunts, which issued in time with the movements of John's finger as it pumped in and out of the larger man.

"More, John," Sherlock requested after a few moments, "fill me up. I need it."

John could feel that Sherlock was fully relaxed, lubed and ready to go, thanks to the play he had been engaging in earlier. Removing his finger, he guided Sherlock so that he was laying face down on the sofa, knees on the floor. John then shucked his trousers and pants, and edged up onto behind Sherlock to line his cock up with the detective's slightly flexing hole. He pushed just the head of his cock inside the larger man, relishing the tightness constricting him.

"MmmmmJohnyes..."slurred Sherlock, completely losing his diction as he was penetrated. He, however, did not want to wait while John enjoyed the specific pressure on this glans. He took matters into his own hands and shoved his hips backwards, sheathing John within his rectum in one go.

"Fuck, Sherlock," yelped John, and unseen by the doctor, Sherlock smiled to himself. He knew he had really gotten beyond John's barriers when the doctor started cursing.

"That's...that's good," the smaller man panted. Sherlock flexed his internal muscles twice, clamping down on the cock inside him. Damn right, that was good. Sherlock had been waiting all day to be filled by his lover, and he was loving every second of it, now that he had what he wanted.

Smiling at what he thought of as Sherlock's transparency, John soon decided that he couldn't wait any longer, and started thrusting into the larger man beneath him at a steady rate. He reveled in each and every thrust, enjoying immensely the loud slap of his hips and balls as they hit Sherlock's slick flesh. He reached around the detective and grappled for the man's cock, finding it as hard as a rock and slapping up against Sherlock's belly with each thrust of John's hips. He could feel the wetness of the man's precum dripping its' way down his cock, and John took it in his hand and spread the wetness around further, all over the head and down the shaft. This he alternated with light tugging of Sherlock's balls and pressure from his thumbs on the man's perineum.

Within minutes, Sherlock was a wreck. All day he had waited, wanting that delicious sensation of fullness in his body, wanting his John inside him, pounding his body into submission. Sherlock had been somewhat surprised at this previously untapped side of his personality, but being the kind of man he was, he didn't waste much time on personal introspection, and just accepted it If this was what he liked, well, then he would pursue it by any means necessary - as long as it didn't compromise his work.

That's what he told himself, at least.

When John's thrusts were beginning to lose cohesion, he grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and placed it on the man's cock, wordlessly asking for him to continue. Sherlock took up the action with gusto. John was then freed to grip the detective by both hips and simply nail the man. He pounded long and hard, aiming every second or third shot at Sherlock's prostate, adding in little rotations of his hips every few thrusts.

John realized that he was swiftly approaching orgasm. He faced a quick decision - how should he implement what he had bought at the sex shop? He'd had an idea when he bought it, but now the timing seemed off. Finally, he threw caution to the wind, and decided to just run with it.

Reaching that exact moment of the pinnacle of his pleasure, pulled out of Sherlock's arse. He had started to come inside Sherlock, and had indeed shot a single jet of his come deep into the detective. But as he pulled out, he painted the man's arse cheeks with his come, being sure that the last dibbles of his come were shot right down on the cleft and on the edge of the gaping hole itself. Below him, Sherlock was fairly vibrating with need, and maintained his frantic wanking.

John groaned as the last of his come emptied out of him, and he swiftly dropped down to his knees and applied his mouth to Sherlock's testicles, licking, sucking and kissing them, and applying steady pressure to the man's perineum. Finally Sherlock gasped and he shot his load onto the floor with a sensuous moan.

As Sherlock rested against the sofa in the first few after-moments of his bliss, John reached down for the item in the bag that he had procured. Sherlock had turned his head to the side, and his eyes followed John's motions.

"Hmmm? I was wondering when you were going to get that out," mumbled Sherlock.

"You did, did you? Well hold still for a moment. I think you may like this."

John pulled out a sizable, black silicone monstrosity of a butt-plug. He sat behind Sherlock, who groaned at the sight of the thing, a huge smile on his lips. John took one finger and started to pick up his come from where it had fallen on Sherlock's arse, and each time that he got a finger-full he tried to shove as much of it as he could into Sherlock's hole, which still hadn't completely closed, and was still winking shut as his body closed on nothing. Sherlock just rested his head on his hands on the couch and hummed happily under his breath. Finally he began to scoop up what he could of Sherlock's come and tried to add that too the mix.

When John had collected all of his semen and put as much of it as he could into Sherlock's body, John took the butt-plug and eased it into his lover's body. The detective finally turned around wearing his new adornment, and he reached for John, who kissed him languidly, and then pulled back to look at him.

"Now you can be as full as you want without spoiling the veg, Sherlock," he said with a smile.

"Mmm. And best of all, I get to keep some of you inside me. Thank you, John, that was really thoughtful." Sherlock stood up, stretching, and walked naked over to his laptop, which he had left open.

"Crap," he intoned, looking suddenly very, very unhappy.

"What is it?" John asked.

"I forgot the webcam on the laptop. To put tape on it. Shit."

In what suddenly felt like a bizarre repetition of the last night's events, John's mobile chimed from his trouser pocket. He checked the screen.

 **As attractive as you both are, I think I prefer the view in the sewers.  
MH**

Sherlock slammed the laptop shut.


End file.
